


And now for something completely different...

by gresniandjeo29



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, game of thrones
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:11:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 19,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2434994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gresniandjeo29/pseuds/gresniandjeo29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I love SanSan fan fictions and I have read darn near every one that's rated M. But I'm also a big fan of Rory Mccann, the actor playing the Hound in the HBO series. Every interview he has ever given on the subject of his character has denied any romantic intent toward Sansa Stark, and I think he's probably right--not to say he doesn't care about her. I think the Hound does, but not with a sexual interest. This fan fiction is going down that track. What if Sansa was just a little more geared towards survival and just a little less self-centered, so that she leaves with the Hound during the Blackwater? I will be editing as I go along. This is a SanSan pairing completely from Sandor's POV. M mostly for violence. Mostly. Look out for sex in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I put on the Rape/Non-con warning. There will not be anything graphic, nor would that be something to happen between the main characters. Traveling through a war zone, it may be something witnessed or mentioned. Same goes for Major Character Death. George RR Martin owns everything.

"Sing for me, little bird...sing for your life." _What the fuck are you doing?_ She was pinned beneath him with his dagger at her throat, trembling like a sheep at slaughter. _Fuck._ He was doing the absolute opposite of what he had planned. He was deserting. That part he planned. He was here in her chambers to try to get some insurance. _A dog needs a master._ Her brother would do as well as anyone. They'd find use for him in their ranks, fighting for the Starks might even bring him closer to facing his brother, but he'd need a bargaining chip, a token, proof of his new loyalty. _What better proof than seeing the last hostage home?_ It was a plan, a good plan. He wasn't under any illusion. He could take her with him one way or another. It wasn't like she could stop him. But he wasn't going to hurt her and he would rather she know that and come on her own. _Not doing a very good job of that._

 

Then she began to sing, but it wasn't the song he'd asked for. "Gentle mother, font of mercy..." It was sung with a slight tremor in the voice, though it still came through, clear and true. _She's afraid of me, she thinks I'll kill her...or worse._ How had he come to this? He didn't know. He was drunk. He had come looking for her and fell asleep in her quarters. He could still hear screams and smell the sizzling scent of burning skin. War was shit, gore and stink. He reeked of battle, he wondered how she could stand it. _You haven't left her any option, have you?_ Yes. He was drunk and he felt heat leaking from his eyes and dripping down onto fair white skin--skin too fine to know anything about him. This wasn't what he meant to do. Other people coerced her, other people bullied. Watching it made him sick, but for all he tried, all he managed to be was a walking menace, a living threat. He needed her to buy at least some time, if not a new start, and he was fucking it up. Reeling from drink and tears he managed to control the slur in his speech. "I'm finished. Leaving. North maybe, could be. Do you want to go home?" He raised his eyes to look at her. She was pale but there was life in her cheeks, her eyes wide and unblinking. _What's the matter with her? Has she lost her wits?_

 

"You won't hurt me." Her voice was quiet and full of an odd sort of wonder. _Comes from being hurt for too long, I expect._

 

"No, little bird. I won't hurt you." _No. You'll be safe and intact when I deliver you to your brother and offer my allegiance...such that it is._ It wasn't much of a plan, thinking on it, but it wasn't bad either. _She's valuable. Too valuable to be left alone._

 

He shifted his weight off of her, taking a moment to steady himself on his feet. Green light flashed with another explosion outside. _Can't control wildfire._ That light illuminated the room with green tinted daylight. A wave of nausea hit him and he wretched into an empty water pitcher. She was sitting up in bed, silent. He held his breath. _If she's daft enough to stay...I can't force her._ Whatever he was, he wasn't that. He began to unlace his white cloak. _Stupid thing. Stupid honor._ Then she looked at him, suddenly alert.

 

"No. Keep it. Maybe the guards haven't heard." She quickly gathered jewels and whatever else she had of value that was easy to conceal, along with a needle and thread. _What in the seven hells is that for?_ "Help me." She walked over to him indicating to her laces. _Fuck me, give me a whore any day. I wouldn't be able to deal with these things sober..._ "Gods, just cut them. I have to change." It was said with an impatient and imperious tone. _Fuck me._ He got a grip on the bodice to hold it from her skin and did as she said. She walked to her chest, holding the dress to her, then behind a screen. She came out wearing a warm northern style dress and deerskin boots. The laces, he noticed were simpler. To be sure, the garments were still too fine, but they were more practical than the Southron court apparel. She took her fur lined cloak as well. _Better than before, she has the right of it._ She picked up her ruined dress and tossed it into the fire. It caught and flared, causing him to wince in the darkness.

 

"Alright. We have to hurry. You do as I say and we'll get out of here." She nodded in surer agreement than he expected. He took her by the hand and started leading her through every back way he could to the stables. Stranger was there, stomping his feet impatiently. _Bloody idiot. Wanted a piece of the action, did you?_ He tacked him as quickly as he could. He had drunk too much too fast. Vomiting had helped, but he wasn't at his best. _You'll have to be clever then._ He didn't consider himself a particularly clever man, but he knew how to identify and compensate a weakness. There were sacks of feed grain in a pile near the hay. He slit the top of one and dumped it into a wide troth. The horses in the stable happily dove into the unexpected ration. _Hopefully they'll eat it all._ "I'm putting you in the bag. The way men are after battle, I'll never get out with a woman on my horse, let alone you if you're recognized." He thought she nodded, but it didn't matter. He put the sack over her head first, slung her onto Stranger's back, pulling the sack around her feet and tying it. "Can you breathe?"

 

"Yes." was the muffled answer. He led his horse out of the stable then climbed up. He secured her behind him. "This is going to hurt and you'd best not make a sound. Not one chirp. You understand?"

 

"I understand." He didn't know if she really did understand. She was a lady, not much accustomed to riding, let alone posing as a sack of plunder. The ass was meant for punishment, but she was stretched across his horse on her belly and he wouldn't be able to let her out until they were at least a half hour out of King's Landing. He grunted approval and dug his spurs into the destrier's sides. She was right about the gate keeps not knowing yet. They'd know he was a deserter in the next ten minutes, though. At least, they had no idea what he was carrying. And no one would expect a deserter to leave without looting whatever he could. _They'll bloody well notice her missing though. Sure they'll put two and two together._ That was a worry for somewhere beyond the walls. He trotted Stranger out the gate before riding hard. They'd have to disguise themselves, keep far from main trade hubs, avoid bandits and combat theatres...He concentrated on the road. It was still dark and dangerous to ride as fast as he was, but when the sun came up they'd have to hide. He knew a possible stopping point...

 

He neared his turn off of the road to a path that would run parallel to the North. As he made the turn he suddenly remembered the Little Bird behind him. She was silent as a grave, so much so that he had completely forgotten she was there. Cursing, he pulled to a halt. He didn't know much about gentleness, but he tried to slide her off the horse like a wounded soldier without making anything worse. He got the bag over her head. She was shaking a bit and her lip was swollen from being bitten. She gasped but didn't complain as he lifted her to sit side saddle in front of him. She just hugged her abdomen. _She's stronger than she looks. There's a favor._ "I have to keep my eyes on the path, can't pay attention to you. If you think you're going to fall off, take my arm." She nodded and he started off.

 

He continued till mid-morning without pause. He had planned to stop sooner, but the further he got from the capital, the better he felt. There would be riders out looking by now and more ground he put between them, the better. The girl was asleep holding his arm. She hadn't been any trouble at all. That was surprising and encouraging. If they worked as a team, their chances improved. He steered them onto an even less traveled path. It was a risk in terms of bandit, but there was significantly less chance of them being spotted. There, he dismounted, pulled out what little food he had thought to carry and woke her to eat. She took what he gave her and didn't argue. They ate in silence. He handed her his wine skin. She took a sip and choked. He laughed. He couldn't help it. "Not used to traveling with water, Little Bird. We'll stop in a few more hours." She was holding her throat and sputtering. He chuckled. _Too much of a lady for that brew._ "Time to go," he mumbled. He packed up, kicked around a bit, then mounted and pulled her up with him. She hummed what sounded like a drunk little tune and slept. _Good_ , he thought. _Better that way. Sleeping she won't know how much she's hurting._


	2. Chapter 2

The moon was high when he took her down from Stranger's back. He set her on her feet. She kept hold of him long enough to steady herself. She took a couple of steps. _Fuck, she's been lamed._ There wasn't any avoiding it. Doing it this way had given them a much needed head-start. She hobbled over to a fallen tree and carefully lowered herself to sit. She winced and bit back her own gasp. _Aye, too much of a lady._ She hadn't given him any trouble, not one word of complaint. Still, he needed her to harden up and be useful if they were going to make it.

 

"You've got the night off, but you'll have to get fit, Little Bird. I can't always do everything." He took a spade from the saddle and dug a small pit, then started lining it with rocks. "Stay here. If someone comes, hide somewhere near Stranger. No one'll go near him." He stalked off into the woods, grabbing tinder and larger chunks of wood. He didn't finesse it and he didn't carry much. They needed enough heat to cook something small and go to sleep. He wouldn't be feeding a fire all night. He returned to her and built the fire. She slid off the tree to the ground to be closer to it. It lit up her hair. _It's too telling--we'll have to do something about that._ He had seen a burrow while gathering wood. He returned to it... _a badger hole. Not the best grub_...but food was food. The adults were out foraging, so he dragged the young from the hole and slit their throats. Back at the camp, he skinned them in front of her and started them cooking.

 

"It's a lot of work, you see? You're lame to do anything tonight, but I'm tired too. If I get too tired, I won't fight the way I can, and that's you need me for. Now you know what to do for the fire and I'll thank you to do it tomorrow." She nodded again. _Good._ He went on. "I don't plan on staying in inns or trading with folk unless we absolutely have to. We'll keep to the wilds, but that's not good enough. We're recognizable from a ways off. I'll cover my head and grow as much beard as I can, but you...we've got to do something about your hair. Wearing a hood won't be near enough."

 

She was silent for a while. "Yes. You're right, of course." She was thinking of something. Continuing, she said," I know a plant one of mother's friends crushed and used as a dye when her hair started to gray...it would turn it black again. Perhaps it could change mine enough..."

 

"Better than nothing. Tell me if you see it when we ride." Cutting it off wouldn't make a difference. Tully colors on the edge of the Riverlands...not a soul would miss it or fail to comment on it.  _Her face is too fine too. High born, no doubt about it._

 

"And my clothes are too fine. They will get dirty from travel and work--that should help," she offered.

 

"There's your face. A bit of soot and dirt here and there...you could pass for someone's bastard, but not if you're pale. Low born folk spend their days in the sun." She nodded.

 

"Well, that issue is bound to resolve itself." _True enough_ , he thought, handing her one of the small bodies from the fire. She took it and still made the most elegant job of eating it that anyone possibly could. "Another thing. Don't talk. Not under any circumstances. I talk for both of us."

 

"Of course," she agreed. _Fuck, if she isn't well behaved. I suppose she was raised for it._ He imagined their upbringings must have been night and day. _Doesn't matter though. We're both running for our bloody lives now._

 

They finished eating in silence. The night was gentle and not very cold, so he let her sleep where she lay. He fed Stranger, took off the tack so he could dry off from sweat and so his skin could breathe. They couldn't afford saddle sores. Stranger was a valuable animal--huge, powerful and highly trained for battle. Another like him couldn't be found for hundreds of miles, he knew, _and it's going to be damned hard to get him enough feed._ He'd have to manage it. A big animal had big demands. He came to one side of her keeping three feet distance between them, stretching out his legs with his back to the downed tree. He put his sword on one side of him and his dagger on the other. He could sleep a bit, as long as he stayed ready.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't really know what to make of it. A week had passed on the road and it was going well. He didn't have complaints about her. She had colored her hair...it only sort of worked, but it was darker, less tellingly red. She took care of the fire from the second night on and her hands were showing it. A week on the road had altered her. If anyone got a look at his face, they were fucked. He was the major liability now. While they had made good time and distance and so far, remained unnoticed by anyone, the reality had sunk in. He was responsible for her and he was an outlaw. It didn't seem to bother her. He had scared up a bunch of rabbits, three were cooking for them to eat. He'd cook the rest to travel and save the skins... _'Winter is coming'. Fuck if it isn't...fucking Starks._

 

While hiding from some passersby, he heard that her brother was on his way to the Twins for some wedding and he smelled a rat. He had killed them and tossed them downstream for good measure. _These Starks...so full of their own honor, they don't seem to know a viper's nest when they see it._ There would be bad news soon, he was sure of that. He stole a glance at her. She was sitting close to the fire, rubbing her red hands together. _It's starting to get cold at night._ The Riverlands would be total chaos very soon. He'd skirt them, but he was heading north. Her Riverland kin were useless spiteful idiots, and Catelyn Stark would have his head, even as he returned her daughter to her-- _untouched or no. I won't waste my breath or my life._

 

Every day he gave her another duty towards their survival and every day he gave her another rule. It was all for her own good. Someone had to teach her something she could actually use. She didn't know how to wash clothes. She was learning. She knew how to mend them well enough and that was useful. She had sewn all of her jewels into their cloaks. _Less suspicious than a purse or a bag_. It was useful...but it wasn't enough. She'd have to learn to forage. He could hunt, but he was exhausted and that had to change. The wine had run out. He was sober and that was something. _We'll run into someone soon. The luck will run out. We'll run into someone and I have to fight. It's all I'm good for._ Two rabbits was not really enough for him, but they would have to stretch things a bit. If they hit a farm, he could steal. _I need food and rest._

 

Stranger needed food and rest too. He couldn't afford to damage his horse. _We have to get to some place where we can stop...some place to lay low a bit._ He handed her her rabbit and tore ravenously into his own. She didn't take any notice of him. His table manners seemed to be of no concern to her. They didn't always talk. She did exactly what he told her--no more, no less. She didn't cause trouble. But soon, she would have to start thinking for herself. She had finished eating and tossed the bones into the fire like he told her. He set up the others to roast. She curled up, pulling her cloak tight about her. _It'll do for now, but it won't be long before we're sleeping like soldiers._ She slept almost immediately. _She'll be alright here_ , he thought to himself. He quietly left camp, heading towards the creek. He would collect water, but he needed to bathe. It wasn't about cleanliness really. He was in pain and he knew the cold water would help. He submerged for as long as he could stand it, scrubbing himself vigorously with sand he pulled from the bottom. He tried to hurry, but cold soothed sore muscles. He got out and dressed quickly, and returned to the camp.

 

As he slipped through the trees with the strange feeling of being watched, he stopped periodically to check. There wasn't a soul to threaten them from the woods. The road, such that it was, was another matter. When he neared the camp, he could feel the presence of others. She hadn't woken up. She lay by the fire, trusting as a lamb. _Fuck._ He could see three of them...poor, ragged... _scavengers_ , he thought. They were after food, but they'd try to help themselves to her. _Anyone would_. The hair on his neck stood up from that same sensation of being watched. The men slowly circling the fire, attracted by the rabbits which looked to be ready, seemed to have no sense of his presence. He silently unsheethed his dagger. He sliced the throat of one, the bowels of another. The three were readily and easliy dispatched. They fell where they had stood. At the moment of first impact her eyes flew open.

 

He was so hungry, so tired. He went to do one thing and she couldn't even wake up to hide. He dropped the neck of the last and hauled her to her feet. "Are you awake now?!" he shouted. "Are you bloody awake yet?!" She looked awake now, her eyes wide and contrite. It didn't have a mollifying effect. "I can't bloody take a piss without worrying over you!" Tears began to spill out of her eyes. "Don't you fucking cry! You're not in the capital, no one's beating you, no one's humiliating you!" He released her and she crumpled to the ground.

 

"Please, Ser..."

 

"I'm not a fucking "Ser"! I'm a dog who's looking for a master. That's what you're for. Protect you, get you home and ally with the enemy of the house I left. That's how I plan to stay alive to kill those who need killing. None of that's going to happen if you don't fucking wake up to scavengers!" his voice raised at the end.

 

"No, please...I'm sorry. You're right. I'm useless. I can't do anything right--I just slow you down. I wish I was like Arya, she's younger than me and she'd know what to do!" she was sobbing into her ruined hands, her wrists more delicate than ever. _She's losing weight. Fuck._  This wasn't something he was about to temper to spare her. She needed to know this was serious. She needed to get the message. These were scavengers, they could have been bandits, they could have been from the capital. Didn't mean he was enjoying it, though. He didn't want to menace her and he wasn't going to harm her. He took a deep breath. _She's a child and one day she'll thank me for the scolding._

 

"Help me pull them from the camp. They stink. They'll attract vermin at best, predators at worst. Come on, girl." He didn't really need her help for this. But he needed to teach her a lesson. He'd kill for her. He didn't have a problem with that, but she had to pick up the pace. He didn't blame her. He blamed her mother. Catelyn didn't know the first thing about practicality. Vanity, stubbornness and prejudice were the words she lived by, and she raised her daughter to be a lady. Arya had escaped the worst of that upbringing... _all wolf, that one._ It wouldn't be long before the other Stark girl turned out to be dangerous. She had all it took and the only difference between the two sisters he could think of was that that Tully woman hadn't had any influence over Arya. The Little Bird was woefully behind in life lessons and she had to catch up, and fast. She took one arm and he took the other. They dragged them out one at a time. Once they were a distance from the clearing he said, "Check their pockets, check them for anything of value." The feeling of being watched was only intensifying. She checked them first, he checked them after. "Good. This is how you treat a body every time. They'd do the same to us if it was reversed. Never forget that." She nodded, mutely. She hadn't missed anything. _She'll do what I tell her_. He knew how to talk to soldiers, knights, squires, whores and sellswords. _Don't know how to talk to ladies._ She wasn't crying anymore.

 

"I'm sorry...."she was quiet. "I don't know what to call you. You won't let me call you Ser..."

 

"Call me Hound. It's what I am." _What the fuck is this? What's the bloody difference?_ She was a Stark of Winterfell and he was the grandson of a kennelmaster. She could call him whatever she wanted. He knew his place.

 

"I can't," she whispered. "I just want to thank you and...apologize."

 

"Call me Hound, or Clegane if you want. And don't apologize. Try harder." She slumped a little but she nodded, back to the little lady again. "Go on, get some rest. Just remember where we are. Don't forget it, not even in your sleep. It'll help." As he followed her back to their camp, he felt a rustling behind him--all around him. _It's the trees_...back in the camp, he stored the rabbits, hanging the bag from a tree. Then he slumped down a few feet from where she had curled up into an impossibly small ball.


	4. Chapter 4

He felt uneasy. To go north from King's Landing meant plowing through the Riverlands, something he had no intention of doing. Skirting them meant traveling west northwest, which brought them closer to Casterly Rock. Even the back paths were thick with people--refugees, deserters and soldiers. He had had to begin the practice of traveling at night and hiding by day, all the while trying to beat the clock against history that was in the making. They'd be free enough once they passed the Twins. It would be faster to hire onto a boat going north, but the weather was unpredictable and hiring meant being seen. He had managed to kill anyone who had seen them so far. He hadn't left any loose ends, but killing an entire crew was a job for an assassin and he was a warrior--just as deadly, but not subtle.

 

Lately he had begun to think of the Stark girl as "Sansa". He thought of her that way, but he still called her "girl" or "little bird". "Lady Stark" was cumbersome. It didn't fit him anyway. _I'm hardly one for manners, courtly or otherwise...raised a dog._  And "Sansa" was far too familiar for the likes of him. Weeks had passed since Blackwater and her moon's blood was upon her. It was hard on her. _Embarrassing, I guess._ He could still call up in his mind her wild eyes as she stabbed madly at her mattress. And how all the fight went out of her at the sight of him. He had reported it, there wasn't a choice then. He wasn't a stranger to blood, it didn't make the least bit of difference to him where it came from. "It's not something that a man other than a husband need know about," she had explained, lowering her eyes. "It is not to be discussed." But of course, it had been discussed because it changed their rhythm. They had to stop more often, she had to bathe more often. He made the adjustment. _We'll be dealing with that every month until we get where we're going._

 

While she had picked up the pace leading up to it, now she was a little slower and paler. _The strength's being bled out of her._ She needed food. _Strong food, not game like pigeons and rabbits_. All of that was too lean. She had picked up some muscle, but she was dry as a bone. _I'll have to get some fat in her soon._ She got better at foraging. He could hunt and she'd find some wild apples or herbs to chew...sometimes chestnuts. For now they were hiding in a cave just deep enough for both of them with low growth concealing it. He glanced at her and her eyes caught his with an apologetic look.

 

"Spit it out, then. You want to bathe, is that it? It's nothing to be ashamed of--you want to go to the river, I'll take you." He was getting a little impatient. _You and every other woman in world suffer the same..._ why did life seem harder on ladies than on a common trollop? Highborns lived in cages as far as he could tell and he wasn't sure how they managed to breathe within all the rules confining them.

 

"Yes. I'm...sorry to disturb you when you should be resting." She said it quietly and without too much rancor.

 

 _I can bloody well sit staring at nothing waiting for daylight to pass as easily by that river as I can here._ He had to wait with her, that was one thing. He couldn't let her out like that alone. He had to stand guard, so he'd select a place where he was concealed and could see both banks. "Quit being sorry, girl. That tires me more than keeping watch." He picked up his sword and led her out of the cave, down to the water's edge. He waited with his back turned, cutting a birch twig until she was submerged, then retreated to keep watch. She wasn't the worst lady to be stuck with. She had learned to live with the ever colder water. The grief her mother or Cersei would have given him in her place...he shook his head. Of course, neither one would have been her place. He wouldn't spare most ladies the back of his hand. She was different. He didn't mind scaring her, sometimes she needed it. Hitting her was another matter. He chewed the twig, cleaning his teeth thoughtfully.

 

The hair on the back of his neck had been up since he had led her from the cave. It was always like that now. He had almost gotten used to the feeling of being watched from every treetop. It worried him. They weren't being followed. He knew that. But the feeling interfered with his normal ability to sense danger. Whoever or whatever the Watcher was, it was only just that. It watched and never spoke or acted. _Listen to yourself...skinchangers? This far from the Wall? What'll you believe in next?_ He felt paranoid in an atmosphere where no caution would be in excess. His thoughts were interrupted by her sudden, loud and very deep intake of breath.

 

 _Lions, by the look of them._ With luck they hadn't heard her inhale or seen her dive. She was trying to swim up current beneath the water, making for a very low waterfall for cover. He had her clothes, so with luck they would just manage not to be seen. The lions dismounted on the far bank, leading their horses to drink. _Six...there are six_. He could take six men down. They looked like they knew which end of the sword was which, but not much more. Two were fairly well built, the other four were varying shades of average. _Wait. If Sansa makes it to cover, best let them by._ Six more bodies in the river wouldn't raise any alarm, but if one of them managed to raise one before he managed to kill them all, he could wind up with more than he bargained for.

 

A couple pulled some bread from their packs, a few pulled up to a row of trees to piss, one started to fill a sack with water. He scoured the water to see if she had surfaced or if she had made it to the falls. He couldn't see her, which meant they couldn't either. That was good, but the current was strong. If she had tried to speed downstream right under their noses, he'd have to track her and every second would be carrying her further. _Wait for it. Wait for it._ The men seemed to be making themselves comfortable. They were setting up a fire, two were getting ready to fish the waters. _Fuck._ He couldn't leave her exposed in the water. She could fall sick or worse. They hadn't hobbled the horses, he'd have to use that. He crept just behind the treeline until he came to the point where he could charge without the water slowing him too much. He wasn't much of a marksman...it wasn't a specialty. He could hunt better with a sling than a bow. He was deadly with a bow because of the power of his draw, but as it was he didn't have it with him. He picked up a few small stones, and using a sling, hurtled them at the backsides of the horses.

 

Streaks of red raised from the panicked animals, they turned on each other, circled and fled together. Two of the men went after them while the others jumped to their feet. He downed one of them with the sling then charged. The divide worked. He was able to take the three remaining easily, finish off the one he had downed and wait in ambush for the other two. As soon as it was over, he felt a strange rush of wind pick up, shaking every twig and bow. Then the air went still. He turned for the falls, unlacing his cloak. He reached them and called out. "It's all over. Come out, girl." Immediately she burst through the wall of water, where he waited with eyes averted and the cloak open to her. She wrapped it around her, her teeth chattering. He picked her up, tossing her over one shoulder to cross at the shallowest point before retrieving her clothes. She dressed with shaking hands while he went to search the bodies. He took coin and food and one of the cloaks. Then he sent the bodies down the river. They walked back to the cave in silence.

 

When they got there, she crumbled to the floor. "Are you alright, girl?" _Too long in the damned water, I expect._

 

"Yes, just cold." She attempted to return his cloak, then gasped a horrified, "No. Oh, no." Where she had been wrapped up naked in it there was one small spot of bright red. "Oh, no, Sandor. I have to clean it. It's horrible." Her face was contorted with a blushing distress.

 

"Look at me!" She stopped and stared. "Enough. Take a look at that cloak." It had been white in King's Landing. Now it was a gray brown, remarkable only in how it was littered heavily with rusty stains--all from kills, both man and beast. "It's no worse and no different than the rest." He held onto her gaze. There couldn't be these pretty little pleasantries between them. There couldn't be any of these rules. There was only one rule. They were in it together. _North. Escape. Survival._ "Wrap up in it anyway. People are nearby, I can't risk a fire." She did as she was told and he piled the lion's cloak and her cloak on top of it. He sat down near her and began cleaning his sword. His blades had to be sharp.

 

He started running his stone up the blade of his dagger. "Sandor..." _When did she start calling me that?_ Not that it mattered. He glanced at her to show he was listening. "Are we in great danger now?" He didn't hesitate.

 

"Yes. We are." He gave the blade two more strokes before pausing and rubbing his face. _What a bloody ruin,_ he thought, as he touched it. Sighing he said, "We have to get out of here."


	5. Chapter 5

They had come to the coast near Pike. He hadn't thought to hire onto a boat, but he had managed to find out bits and pieces of news from the people they were trying desperately to avoid. Then he had caught a piece that was useful. Asha Greyjoy had left Pike. She had lost the Kingsmoot and taken her ships and men from the islands. Now it was known that her brother, Theon Turncloak had razed Winterfell then disappeared and now his sister was going after him. _That's likely more about the claim than anything._  That was all anything was ever about. It didn't matter to him. He didn't need to get far, just past the Twins. He pulled the skin hood further down his face as he made his way toward the inn. Anyone his size in this part of the country would attract attention. He'd have to be smart and make it quick.

 

The Kracken's daughter sat at a table with her men, eating with her hands and swilling ale like the best of them. When he approached the table, the lot of them turned on him, taking stock of what he'd be in a fight. Six lions were nothing. Six of her guard were something, and he didn't want to go up against a half dozen drowned men when what he wanted was a parley. On the other hand, it wouldn't look good if he hesitated. She sat at the head of the table, the space at the foot was empty. He took it and smacked his heels on the table. She looked interested and the men seemed satisfied, resuming their seats at her side.

 

"I don't need to see your face to know who you are, "she began. She was a born leader. The mens' reactions to her made that obvious. She was dark, handsome, strong. _She looks like she's what a man needs after a fight when his blood is up...fights probably get her blood up as well_. Something told him she had an appetite, but not for just anything. Hard to keep respect of men with your ass in the air."What do you want?"

 

"I hear you're going north to Winterfell. I want to hire on."  _Keep it simple._

 

"What's your interest in Winterfell?" she asked through narrowed eyes.

 

"Don't have any. You know who I am. My interest is getting past the Twins, putting distance between me and the lot who'd have my head, pretty trophy that it is. Don't need to go as far as Winterfell. You'll reave the coast on your way. I can help with that, go my own way when you head inland." _If you're headed that way, I'm sure as hell heading in another._ He'd have to smuggle Sansa onto the lower deck to stay with Stranger. His horse had gotten used to her, but he was still so mean tempered, no one else would get near him. He wouldn't take the risk of bringing a passenger. The only thing the men of Pike sowed was their own seed. _Rapers and reavers and proud of it._ She was safer as cargo with no one the wiser. And anywhere north of the Twins would do.

 

"I imagine you can cleave a few heads. The share? I'm not letting you board for nothing."

 

"I can earn by iron. I'll give you one third."  _Aim high, if you want to hit the mark._

 

She laughed. "You'll give me two thirds, or you won't know which ship is mine. I have to put up with your land loving horse. The get seasick too."

 

"I'm paying with iron, not gold. Half and half then. You won't regret that. I'm worth three men on a bad day and five on a good one." Ironborn were tough, but there was only one man in the realm that could possibly best him, and that man was in charge of Harrenhall. He'd deal with him later. She cocked her head to one side, casting an appraising glance from the top of his head that raked down his outstretched legs to his boots. _Size me up all you want, Lady Kracken. You won't find me lacking._

 

"Deal." She spat in her hand and held it out. He spat in his and slapped their palms together. "Be here before dawn. We sail with the first light." He nodded and stood. He made his way through the settlement, taking the first opportunity to leave the trodden path. He had to get to Sansa, get them packed up and ready. She'd be in for another hard ride, but she was stronger now. _She'll do it. She'll do what I tell her._ It was more than childish obedience now. They had come through many things and she trusted him. _I'm not one of her knights...the knights only hurt her. I don't hurt her. I keep her safe._


	6. Chapter 6

_Two weeks at sea._ Two weeks at see before they hit land and went to work. The work wasn't hard. It didn't take much to cut up farmers and fisherfolk. He kept to his word when it came to reaving and raiding. _Lady Kracken has nought to complain about._ His haul was the largest and she was taking half. No one made what he did. And he got all that he could eat and drink. _Aye, and they're so often in their cups, they've not noticed the food I take below._ As the only one on board who could go near Stranger, he stayed in charge of all of his care. He made his way down, while they continued feasting. When he got there he gave a rhythmic tap on the hull, so she would know it was him. She emerged from the hay, bits of it clinging to her hair. She immediately began her routine. She shoveled and mucked out the area of old hay, replacing it with fresh. Then she saw to Stranger's feed and water. _She has to lie there quiet all day and never move a muscle just to be safe. She needs the activity and I need the rest._

 

He piled up the hay in the corner that he used as a pallet. Sinking gratefully onto it, he waited for her to finish. When she did, she came to stand next to him and started to unbuckle his armor for him. He'd take it off, but he appreciated that she did that. He held steel all day, his hands absorbing the hard shocks from being met with steel. He was holding up exactly as he expected to and she was doing everything she could. He held out a cloth parcel, which she took, sitting next to him. She unwrapped it, thanking him. _Still the little lady_. She looked better than she had on the road. She was eating better on the scraps he brought her from the Kracken's table. Tonight there was fresh bread, salt pork and a couple of small apples. He offered her a swig from his wine skin. He watered it down for her, but it still put her to sleep. He slipped off the armor and stretched out.

 

Once he thought it was safe to let her out he had gone over the rules for the ship. She'd hide all day, no matter what. They'd bunk together. He couldn't leave her alone when the bulk of the men were on the ship. She had to sleep close to the wall covered by his cloak. Then, even if someone came down, they wouldn't see her with him in the way. He told her he wouldn't touch her and he hadn't. Didn't have any reason to. He never touched her if it wasn't necessary. _Except that one time, on the serpentine_...he had grabbed her arm and she said he was hurting her. _That's all a brute like me could do._ Now they were sleeping like soldiers. It took off the chill. They'd be harder pressed the further north they went.

 

The Black Wind was going as far as Deepwood Motte. _Don't think I'll wait that long._ Every minute she spent on this ship was a terrible gamble. _Till the Sea Dragon point...no further. Then we have to make our own way._ Getting her and his horse to shore unnoticed would be quite the job. Then he'd have to make for the woods and pray that he wasn't worth going after while the Iron Islanders had other business. He'd have to make his way through land bound to be infested with them and every Northerner to have betrayed her family. _Better than waiting for them to slit my throat in my sleep and take her for ransom to be sold to the highest bidder._ The Lannisters were likely the highest bidders. The Highgarden delegation could compete with coin, but wouldn't necessarily see the value of keeping her for themselves. Then there were the Boltons and that he would not even contemplate. _She's the key to the North now...there can't be a single player who hasn't noticed._ He glanced in her direction. She had tucked herself in between him in the wall, leaving a respectable distance between them. _We'll make it. We have to_.


	7. Chapter 7

He was double checking the packing. He had done his work for the day. They had reaved their way up the coast. The Stoney Shore didn't boast much in riches, but the Ironborn couldn't leave it alone. Raping, reaving, and raiding were so obligatory-- _it's what they are._ He understood that. He came from dogs and the dog's nature was his. He glanced in Sansa's direction. He knew she'd done what he said, he was just making sure that not one of her hairs was left behind. He had managed to get some wine to her to make the dye and it had come out stronger this time. Her hair blended with the night, while her eyes almost glowed in her face. Focusing on what he was doing, he was pleased with her. She didn't forget a thing and everything was just as he needed it.

 

She had stuffed spare sacks from the cargo hold with more hay and arranged them in the hay pile under the Lannister cloak they had taken from the soldiers he had killed weeks ago. It looked enough like his sleeping form to cause confusion. Of course, if his horse was missing, confusion would be all he could hope for. _Confusion and a bloody miracle._ He'd get off the ship on a rowboat. Stranger would have to jump and swim. It was a huge risk. His horse would do as he made him. He just hoped that the ice of the water wouldn't kill him. _Fool animal._ His chest was tight when he thought of it. _Fool animal._ He stroked his muzzle for what could be the last time. _I'll never forget you, you blithering blood thirsty idiot._

 

He had spoken to her, told her all of the news that he had. The Young Wolf, his young wife and Catelyn Tully had all been murdered at the Twins. Winterfell had fallen to the Ironborn and been retaken by the Boltons--her brothers were dead or missing. The only option left was to make for the Wall, to her half-brother. Jon Snow was the Night Commander now. If he couldn't harbor them, he could tell them where to go. Either way, the whole world seemed to be burning. His brother had been dispatched from Harrenhall. Gods only knew where that monster might be. She hadn't made a sound then. Tears streamed out of her eyes as if by themselves, independent of her. She neither sobbed nor sniffled. He told her his plan to which she agreed.

 

"It doesn't make a difference," he had told her before repeating himself. "No one will harm you again, or I'll kill them."

 

She had actually smiled at that--a wan smile, but a smile still. "A dog will die for you but never lie to you." She had laid a hand on his shoulder and he felt for a moment like...a friend? _No. An equal._ Theirs was a camaraderie. She was a girl, a lady, but they were partners in survival and she did her best not to let him down. He knew that. He did the same and more.

 

His thoughts made their way back to the present. _This is going to be a fucking trick and a half._ He had managed to spike two wine casks with milk of the poppy. He had stolen it from a healer's hut. It wasn't much, but it would help. He had told her to pack up his armor, he wore breeches, tunic and cloak. _Can't risk that weight on the water._ He crept up the stairs. The Ironborn were all in various states of dress, passed out in their bunks and hammocks. _Doesn't mean the Kracken's daughter isn't wide awake._ Asha was no fool. He kept to the shadows to peer into the window of the captain's cabin. _Thank the Gods._ He had been right. She wasn't sleeping. _But she is occupied and that's good enough._ Naked on her knees, she was pleasuring a lover. He grabbed her, sitting her on her desk before filling her. _Yes. Her tastes run high._ She had gotten on well with him. She was clearly impressed, but he was nowhere near pretty enough for her.

 

He stole back down to the cargo hold. He sneaked up with Sansa, helping her into the rowboat and covering her with the sacks of valuables he had earned. Satisfied that she was well hidden, he lowered the rowboat to the water. This was the tricky part. He got Stranger on deck, carefully guiding him from the hold. The animal had an instinct for danger and followed with as little sound as possible. Once on deck, he cut the boat loose. Then, mounting bareback and without tack, he kicked into his horse's sides. The animal reared, then plunged headlong into the darkness, jumping madly into the freezing water below. He released him, swimming to the row boat. Taking up the oars, he rowed for land. He called out to his horse once, but otherwise pulled as hard as he could. He ran aground, and carried her to the beach. _No use in both of us being wet in this cold._ Stranger walked from the water, shaking it off as if it had been nothing, just as he finished unloading the loot. He threw a blanket over him and tied the sacks to his back. He switched the wet one he was wearing for another cloak. He could do that much for himself. Securing only his dagger in his belt, he said, "We make for the woods and look for shelter. We're on foot for this." He took a fistfull of Stranger's hair, and he took the lead. She grabbed the edge of his cloak. When he looked at her, she said," So I don't lose sight of you in the darkness." He nodded and they started off.


	8. Chapter 8

They walked searching until dawn. It was hard to observe rock formations and other geographical features at night. He was sure that there must have been some cover somewhere, but they hadn't found it. Nevertheless, nearing first light they found a homestead, all dark and silent. That was normal for the hour of day, but something didn't feel right to him. He left her with Stranger, a distance from the door, and went forward alone to inspect it. Two yards from the door he smelled death. Looking in, he saw five corpses; a man, woman, two children and an infant. They'd been rotting for two weeks by the look and the smell. He made his way back to her.

 

"No one left inside is alive. We need to get some shelter until nightfall. Longer, if we're feeling lucky. We have some supplies, but I'd rather hunt before hitting them. Winter is coming and that's bad for us."

 

"The people inside. They're dead?" she asked quietly.

 

"Yes. And I can't see what killed them. We have to get them out and burn them. Then we have to do what we can to clean the house...minimize any risk to ourselves." She nodded and he led her with Stranger to the little hovel.

 

He opened the door and lead the horse in. _We'll be warmer together. He's wet and so am I._ "I'll take care of the bodies. Take this." He picked up a brush and a rag. Then he went to Stranger's side, taking a wineskin from the packs. It was strong, he knew. _That swill can start fires._ "Use the brush on all the surfaces--the table, the cookwear, the larder. Otherwise, soak the cloth and run it over everything. I mean everything, even the floors, the walls." She gagged a bit on the smell. Pulling a scrap of cloth from her sleeve, he recognized the handkerchief he had offered her to wipe her bloody lip. Tying it across her face, she nodded and began to do as told. 

 

He collected all the firewood and kindling he could, building a bonfire. This was also a risk, but it would be less noticeable in daylight and also less suspicious. It took work, but he got it burning. He fed it, building it up before heaving one body after another atop it. The smell and the heat were sickeningly familiar. He returned to the homestead and hauled out every mattress, hauling them to the fire's side before adding them to it. That sort of thing held a lot of disease and went up quick. When he got back inside, she handed him the cloth to wipe down every place she couldn't reach. The whole house stank of the strong alcohol. _Good. She'll do what I tell her._

 

She built a fire in the hearth, as if she knew he had had his fill of the flame for one day. Once it started to crackle, she walked over to him. She pulled the sodden tunic from him and took it to hang over the hearth. She brought him her cloak, then returned to setting things in order. She knew how to make some kind of ration now and she set about to doing that. She collected snow from tree boughs into a pot, placing it on a hook over the fire. She sliced a little salt pork with his dagger, which she added to the pot, heating it so the fat would melt. Then she poured meal into it, watching for the right consistency. When she judged it ready, she carried the heavy put to him and rested it on the floor. They ate with the spoons they brought directly from the pot.

 

The food was hot and rich. He finally felt like he was shaking off the chill of the sea. He unloaded Stranger. Tapping his front leg, he commanded his destrier to lie on the floor. He wrapped the blanket from his horse's back around him and hung his breeches to dry. "Come here," he said to her. She finished wiping out the pot with more wine, then came to him. "I've been chilled and so has he. We sleep together." He pulled out every cloak and spare skin they had. He sat on the floor, pressing his back to his horse's belly and indicated for her to join them. Then the two of them piled every blanket, skin and cloak over the three of of them. He closed his eyes and didn't open them until nightfall.


	9. Chapter 9

The bonfire of bodies and bedding had burned all night, only to buried under a morning coating of snow. If the Ironborn wanted, they could have found them by now. He rubbed a roughened hand over his face. It would be best to use Stranger as a pack animal now. Large, heavy animals weren't meant for the snowdrifts. Hunting would be more plentiful here than further north and it was best they be prepared. _We need food...and we need skins._ They'd need more and more layers. Could they risk a week? A tenday, hunting and curing meat and skins?

 

His muscles ached, but suddenly amidst his thoughts he recognized the warmth in the hut. Stranger heated the space and they were all tucked in together. It was probably the warmest they had been since leaving the capital. He glanced over at Sansa who was fast asleep, her face resting on both hands against the side of his horse. He bit back a laugh. _She looks as peaceful as a babe in a crib, only she's sleeping on one of the meanest war horses in the seven kingdoms_. He didn't disturb her, leaving her to sleep as he dressed in his clothes, now dry from the fire. He took his armor from the packs and started giving it a once over. Eventually, he'd teach her to care for it. He was better off without it for hunting purposes, but he lacked layers and it warded off some chill. _Deer,_ he thought to himself. _We need deer_.

 

Deerskin was practical. The hair of the pelt lay flat and didn't contribute much bulk, but the hairs were hollow and that meant insulation. The meat was lean, but dark, which meant something in the long run. They'd cook and eat the organs fresh, dry the rest...but they'd need five skins, no less, maybe six. They had saved every skin so far and Sansa had patched them together into one irregular blanket. Would it be enough to continue North? He didn't know.

 

They had to get past Deepwood Motte. They hadn't traveled far inland and they wouldn't travel any further. They's keep to the coast as much as possible. If they made it to the Gift, it would be good enough. That belonged to the men of the Wall and those who served them. It was sparsely populated with ruined shelters scattered across it. From there, they were all but home free to Castle Black and her half-brother, Jon Snow. Her brother had no authority over what happened to Winterfell.  _The Black brothers can't take sides in the politics of the Kingdoms. She's got to be safe there._

 

He was dressed. He woke her and got Stranger to his feet. He walked him out to a clearing that was sheltered from the snowfall by thick pines. Grass was sparse on the ground, but the horse nibbled what there was before he added more feed to it. In some ways, keeping Stranger was a bigger challenge than keeping Sansa and he hoped he'd find some abandoned stores of feed in the Gift. When he returned she had made the ration again. He ate with her in silence. When they were finished, he told her to go over the house again with the wine, then to forage--not too far afield--and to take Stranger with her. She gave him an odd look, but she understood the point and nodded in agreement. He was going hunting.

 

Two hours later, he hauled in one doe. She was there waiting. He did the skinning and threw the eatable organs into the pot she offered. The rest they burned. He left her to stip the carcass and went out again, dragging a buck back the second time. The butchering work on that took more time. He treated the hides with the animals' brains and he took the rack from the buck. The horn could be used for rudimentary tools, even weapons, and it was high time Sansa had something of her own. A spear was a good woman's weapon--it could be light weight and it kept distance between opponents. He'd teach her to use it. It was a good haul for one day. They had strong fresh meat to eat, she had managed to get Stranger some pasture, she had found some wild apples and old walnuts. _One week. One week and we have to move._


	10. Chapter 10

Traveling up the coast had been slow and stealthy. They traveled at dusk and dawn, moving slowly and keeping to the scrub. Night travel was too risky for Stranger in this part of the world. One wrong step could be the end of the horse, and they needed him. The animal bore quite a bit of cargo, all of it much needed supplies. All of them, Stranger included, were covered in skins and blended into the drab gray of the Northern world during those twilight hours of half-light. _At least we can see, and we're not easily seen_. His life had changed considerably since his desertion. As the Lannister Hound, visibility had been a strength, his mere presence doing as much psychological damage to potential opponents as his violence in action, or his proficiency at tourney. Now, their survival depended on evasive skills--a set of skills he knew about in theory and had now rapidly gained through practice.

 

They were nearing the edge of the Gift and every mile made him more nervous. They were close, but they'd had to evade Boltons once, the Flayed Man standard was recognizable from a distance. As far as anyone knew, she was the last Stark. The Boltons would take her in a heartbeat and she'd never see the light of day again. They were one more day from the Gift if they pushed, and that still wouldn't be good enough. They'd make for the Wall, no matter what, and pray her bastard brother had some better news for them.

 

The hostiles in the area weren't his only worry. Stranger was starting to suffer. Feed had to be rationed, he couldn't be given too many apples, they could twist his gut. While he wasn't carrying two riders as before, he was still acting as a pack animal. If they didn't make the Gift in time, he'd have to start dropping supplies, which would leave a trail and put them at a disadvantage later. The sun was beginning to rise in the sky, so he made for the treeline to get them cover to rest and wait. They wandered through as ash forest until he saw the distinctive red leaves of a Weirwood. He heard her gasp with delight and realized what it must mean for her, this symbol of home. For his own part, every hair on his body seemed to rise as he stared into the solemn carved face that seemed to be staring back from across miles and centuries. He was a man of flesh, bone and blood. He lived in the now, but something about that face transcended death and time. He frowned. _Is that you behind the face? Are you the Watcher?_ Red leaves shivered, as if in response. _Bloody hells_ , he thought, as a shiver echoed up his spine.

 

Sansa, by contrast, seemed comfortable, as if in the embrace of something familiar and familial. She was unconcerned, approaching the tree, offering a prayer and a few words he could not hear. This tree was the first of many they would pass in the course of their journey and it was said the old Gods watched through the weeping eyes of the trees. He had no use for Gods, neither old nor new. The name of his horse demonstrated that. _Together we are the Stranger. We are death._ He gave her a few moments more, before grumbling the caution to move on. A raven perched on one white bow took to wing. He could not be sure, since all ravens looked alike, but it seemed to be with them wherever they went.

 

The snow drifts were ever deeper. The autumn sun was still favoring them during the day, but those days were shorter and the nights stretched ever further. It seemed worth the risk to walk on through the day and try to push into the Gift. It was no guarantee of anything, but it seemed a better option than continuing to prowl through hostile territory. He urged them on, tearing up any leaves and shoots he could find to encourage his horse onward. They passed rolling hills on their right as they followed the Bay of Ice. The Shadow Tower was closer, but he had no reason to believe that Snow was there, or that they would be received well in his absence. He was trying to stay far from the King's Road, but eventually they would have to cut east along to Wall to reach Castle Black. The Black brothers kept it clear, but that didn't mean it was safe. Either way, the time had come to wash the false tint out her hair and nail her colors to the mast.

 

She had changed in the time they had traveled together. She was still growing. She would be a tall woman, already taller than Joffrey had been when they left. The boy king was dead now, and neither of them had shed a tear over it. But she was fit, too. Of course, she tired with more ease than he did, but the difference between those first days and now was light and darkness. It was foolish when he thought of it, but he was proud of her. _This is how a Lady Wolf is meant to be._ There she was, trudging uphill through snow up to her knees, against a wind she wouldn't allow to hold her back. She was young yet, but one day she would learn that she was well and worthy to enter the game. _Lady Wolf and a little bird no longer_...his role was meant to be small as he saw it, but the dog chose wolves over lions.


	11. Chapter 11

The news wasn't good. They had managed to make their way quietly across the Gift, even picking up a stray black mare, obviously one of the bloodline bred for the Brothers. That had lightened the load on Stranger at the same time as doubling the pasturing requirement, but it had also changed their traveling speed. They reached Castle Black ten days after passing under the nose of the Shadow Tower.

 

Unfortunately, Sansa's half-brother, the Night Commander was not there. He had gone north of the Wall to parley with the free folk. His idea was risky, but as far as Clegane could see, brilliant. To populate the castles along the Wall and the Gift with the only people wild enough and hard enough to bear the coming winter was nothing short of genius. Of course, the high-borns among his men hardly saw it that way. It just made him more of a bastard to them, this break from tradition. Traditional thinking wasn't always wrong, but it was predictable, and these times would call for creative solutions...from all of them.

 

Worse yet, Snow's absence was not the only unforeseen complication. Stannis had joined the Wall together with his red sorceress and all of his forces. It seemed he had arrived just in time to defend the Wall and had plans to make it his new base of operations. The darkness would come from beyond it, so the red woman said, and Stannis vowed himself as the Lightbringer to bring it siege and stop it at the Wall. _Fuck Kings and their fucking Gods._

 

Stannis was a man of honor. It was the only thing he could really lay claim to without fear of the slightest dispute. He was not concerned that Sansa would come to harm here. She would be treated as the heir to Winterfell. _The female heir to Winterfell._ She had pulled him aside herself and explained what that would mean.

 

"He will not harm me, Sandor, but he will put me up to market like a prize pig and sell me to whomever he owes the most." Her eyes flashed in defiance. "I won't have it, I tell you. I am a Stark and I am keeping Winterfell." She had said it with such conviction, he had involutarily bowed his head. _Lady Wolf_ , he had thought in wonder.

 

Jon Snow returned two days later and began the parade of wildlings, who poured tribe by tribe through the one great northern gate. The red woman was there to see them burn the Weirwoods, something that repulsed Sansa and he expected the wild folk, too, but they cast their twigs in the fire. It didn't take much wit to see that they were paying their dues, nothing more. It would take more than a campfire to change the free folk.

 

Snow was hardly happy to see him, although he gladly greeted his sister. She had worried over the meeting, telling him what horrible behavior she had shown him. "You're different now, girl. He'll see it," he had mumbled gruffly. He didn't know about comforting ladies, but he knew the truth. Snow was a leader now, and he had to have a head for judging people rightly. She hurriedly told him of everything that had befallen their family in the capital.

 

"There is the matter of...Sansa, did this man touch you? Did he...abuse or take advantage of your gratitude?" _He's half lord alright--look at him trying to find a suitable way to ask after her bloody virtue,_ Sandor thought to himself. "I said I'd deliver her unharmed and untouched. That in exchange for a new house to serve. I'm dead in the South, you know. I deserted and bid the good King fuck off. My life depends on her being intact, or do you take me for a bloody fool?" _She's nought but a child, besides!_ He said he'd never harm her, and the only women to bed down willingly with him would expect not to have to look at him and they'd want the coin up front. Besides, raping children was more up his brother's alley.

 

"It's true," she rushed in before Snow could answer. "He said that no one would harm me or he'd kill them and he's kept his word, I swear it."

 

"They speak the truth," came a slow, slithering accented voice. The red lady had overheard them and was advancing, melting the snow wherever she stepped.

 

"This doesn't concern you and these travelers are persons of no consequence." Snow spoke with confidence, but it didn't stop her advance.

 

"You lie, Night Commander. The Lord of Light has identified them both to me. They are both kissed by fire and so revealed beneath His light." _If this is her God's kiss, I'd hate to see his fuck,_ Sandor thought, involuntarily drawing the hood closer to the scars. Melissadre paused as if she'd heard him think, then circled the three of them in a casual perusal. "The girl is untouched. She has been protected." She paused at Sandor's side, gazing obliquely at him from foot to head. "He is viscious but loyal. He will never harm her. He is a dog. She is his master now." He wouldn't have put it that way in his own thoughts, but it was true enough.

 

"I am sending them away." Snow met her eyes as if daring her to oppose him.

 

"As follows their destiny," she returned smoothly and with unperturbed nonchalance.

 

"You will not tell the King or the Queen?" Snow seemed both surprised and suspicious.

 

"They are marked. Their business is with the Lord of Light...."she paused, glancing up at the sky where a raven circled,"...and with the old Gods. They will travel North of the Wall, into the land of neverending winter. They both will have roles to play in the future, but for now, they must stay far from the world of men. They must seek the three-eyed raven, they must find the gates into the darkness of living earth and hide themselves beneath until the fires have burned away the night from above. They must live out the winter in order to feed the spring." The Lady Melissandre took her leave as slowly and quietly as she had made her interruption.

 

 _Well, that was bloody disturbing._ The three of them remained in the courtyard, glancing at each other uneasily. He didn't understand even a quarter of what she'd said, but he understood Sansa. She was right about her position and it was precarious. He hadn't stolen her away from the capital just to deliver her to the same fate. He'd take her North of the Wall. _Aye, let the rest of the bloody world sort it out. I'll keep her safe._ When it came time for her to return to Winterfell, she would be a queen and no one would decide for her.


	12. Chapter 12

_Four nights with the Black Brothers_...four nights were all they had and they weren't much. Already the concerns of winter rationing were upon the men of Castle Black, especially now that the wildlings had joined them. The Night Commander insisted Sansa take her meals in the pair of adjoining rooms they shared. He had not disputed the adjoining rooms. Castle Black now teamed with women, every one of them a spearwife except for her and Melissandre. _And that one can take care of herself_. There was no way either man would allow her to sleep without a guard. Snow was allowing them to stay as long as he could, but he had warned them both to be long clear of the wall before Stannis's return.

 

The mattresses were musty and hay filled. The rooms were cold, drafty and difficult to heat. Each night, she had crawled into his bed and he had made no particular note nor mention of it. They were accustomed to sharing heat on the road and he saw no reason that would change in a castle that was barely better than the outdoors. They needed rest and she couldn't afford to lose sleep over a sense of propriety. He was glad she knew that and didn't make careless sacrifices. They'd be leaving this "comfort" soon enough.

 

He had fashioned her a horn spear well enough that he noticed the free folk eyeing it with approval as he carried it up to the tower they occupied. He handpicked one of the spearwives to train her and he observed trainings so he'd be able to continue after they left. The spear wasn't just a good woman's weapon--a woman had to be trained by a woman. The wildling women had been deadly with a spear for centuries, they knew tricks that compensated for size and strength. He would spar with the woman using a dagger to demonstrate to Sansa the difference in techniques. He'd not used his sword though--that would have presented too great an advantage.

 

She'd grown out of the dress she'd chosen to wear from the capital. It was falling to rags besides. He had bartered his loot with the free folk for their urine bleached skins. He would leave the rest with Snow-- _won't be useful where we're going_. They had their own hides they could use as layers, but they also needed better cammoflage. She'd wear breeches and boots, coat and cloak, all in varying shades of beige, gray and white. He'd keep his armor, but otherwise do the same.

 

While she was once more confined as she had been on the Kracken ship, he mingled in the courtyard below gathering every insight of what lay beyond the Wall that he could. Whitewalkers were real. Giants were real. Skinchangers or wargs, wights, greenseers...the list went on and on. They had to forage, hunt and travel by day--each day would be shorter than the last--and see that they were well hid for the expansive night. The free folk had their ways. They knew their land--cave systems and hot springs. He took whatever they would share, and a good deal more. His presence was still a menace. Even the giant seemed to be able to smell the blood on him. Turning back to their tower, he noticed a pack of young men sniffing about the door to which he held the key. They noticed him too, and departed like foxes faced with a larger predator. He entered and locked it behind him, meeting her on the steps.

 

She was running her paces. Confined she was, but she was not under the obligation to be silent that she had been aboard the ship. She ran the stairs and took them slower, two at a time, as he had taught her. She lifted her pack in repetition and carried it when she ran in place. He'd be damned if she lost her condition, so hard won. She was winded, but that was good. Meant she was warm, at least. He followed her up the winding staircase to the top, dropping black bread, hard cheese and some late pears on the table. She tore into the bread that was still hot, with eager fingers. He smirked. _Can't blame her...hot fresh bread is a bloody luxury and we'll be without it soon enough._ He hoped for a week, but the other key on the lock below would bear the news, whatever it was. Only other key belongs to the Night Commander. Snow was on his way up the stairs in what sounded like a bloody rush.

 

He burst in as Sansa was cramming a chunk of cheese into a mouth already full of bread. "Time's up," he said with serious eyes, slightly winded from the climb. "You'll have to go on the morrow."

 

"Stannis?" he asked. It seemed sudden for a man moving with an army.

 

"No. Worse. The Queen and his daughter intend to take up residence until one of the other castles is made ready as his base of operations. They intend to follow him and maintain his seat while he does battle." He paused. "The lady Melissandre agreed not to make mention of you, and you are certainly not the only secret she holds from her beloved king and queen, but she can't hide you. You'll have to leave."

 

He sighed. Glancing over at Sansa, he watched her swallow her food, her expression calm. "Then we'll leave tomorrow." _She says it like she's saying the sky is blue._ She was growing up fast. She'd be a great leader one day, and based on her experience. She knew hardship and was undisturbed by it. That night she crawled in next to him like every other, their breath thick and white in the darkness of the cold. They supplied themselves and covered the horses in a grey clay dust. Having said their goodbyes to her brother in the tower, they left unseen through the throng of wildlings still coursing through the gate.


	13. Chapter 13

They traveled weeks through the white waste keeping to some of the landmarks that he had learned about. They did everything they could for the horses and maintaining them took the most management. He continued to notice the raven, always within eyesight but out of range. They wandered into a thick clutch of pines where she attempted to forage and he to scare up game. He moved more quickly than she did. Her contribution involved attention to detail while his required a certain fleetness. He was certainly leaner than he'd been in the capital with all the food and drink his body could ask for. As he moved on ahead, he reached a clearing he believed to be at the center. _That weirwood must be a thousand years old._

 

The blood red sap poured from the eyes in the carved face of the massive tree. He had never seen one of such sheer magnitude south of the Wall. Everything south of the Wall was "south" to the free folk, and everything to the south was new. North of the Wall, time stretched out backwards. He crept closer to the tree as if being beckoned. _It's you, isn't it_. He didn't ask anymore, really. He knew the feeling like the back of his hand now. A small steaming pool lay at the roots of the great tree and as he approached he saw a mass of white fur.

 

When he reached the root mass, he confirmed what he had suspected from across the clearing. It was a direwolf female. She had been torn horribly by an unidentifiable assailant. She had dragged herself to the tree, probably because of the heat that came off of the pool at its feet. Littered around her frozen teats were five pups of varying colors, all dead. As he examined her more closely, he discovered one pup still alive. "Is this what you want?" he asked the Watcher, as he tucked the small lump of white fur into the layers about his chest. He sensed that it was, but there was more. It was then that he heard it, a voice not his own commanding from inside his head.

 

_"You have to burn them. Burn them all."_

 

 _Bloody fucking hells_. He had sensed this presence every step of the way on their journey, but it had never spoken. _"Are you in my head, Watcher? What do you want?"_

 

_"I am everywhere and every time. Burn the bodies of anything you kill or find, and look east for the gate."_

 

Before he could respond, he felt the presence shifting. The raven that followed them had perched on a bow of the tree and it now took to wing. He no longer felt anything behind the bleeding eyes. He picked up the dead pups in his sack and began to drag the direwolf to the camp. Sansa was waiting, feeding the horses. She turned and gasped at the sight of the direwolf.

 

"Dead when I found her," he said. His mind called up her wolf, Lady, and the events of the day that saw Ned kill her. _Bloody mistake, that. A direwolf at court..._ that would have given them all pause the day the Knights stripped her and beat her for Joff's amusement. He had dropped the white cloak around her naked shoulders. She was just a child then, a child not even flowered that the lot of them were learing at. He shook off the thought. "She's not all I found." He reached into his shirt to pull out the white pup and he handed it off to her. She all but ran forward to take it from him. He sat on a fallen tree and began the process of skinning everything he had carried back. There were rabbits, a few winter doves... _and a direwolf._ That was going to be quite a pelt.

 

It was still early in the day, and Sansa began to set up a fire. She had tucked the pup into her clothes just as he had. Once the flames were established, she fed the fire a little more, then settled beside him to pluck the doves. She saved the feathers. They were lightweight and with enough of them, they could use them for insulation between layers. They ate in silence. He watched her feed the pup tiny bits of meat and fat.

 

"A boy this time," he remarked.

 

"Yes. He looks almost like Jon's wolf, Ghost...but his eyes aren't red. They're yellow."

 

"Well? What'll you be naming him, then?" he asked. _Presuming he survives_..."Can't call him, 'Lady'," he teased. It had been the name she had chosen for the mare. Oddly enough, it fit. _That mare certainly has better manners than Stranger_.

 

She paused, thinking. "You have Stranger....I'll have the Warrior. Warrior," she said with finality. _Well, he certainly has a fight ahead of him._ The pup had been through a lot already--malnutrition, exposure. He'd help her as best he could to keep the little Warrior alive, but the pup had to want it. His mind flashed back to the Watcher, how he had been drawn to the direwolf bitch by it...and what it had said. _That it bloody well, 'said', anything..._

 

"We have to burn the she-wolf's body--hers and any other." They'd have to build the fire high and leave it behind. It wasn't a good policy, but they had to find shelter before dark. No fire could spread too far in the winter wastes. They had to move on. "We're turning east." She looked at him quizzically but didn't have to ask why. He answered her look. "We have to turn east for shelter." He had been told of one place they could make before dark. After that...he looked to the sky. _After that, the bloody raven leads the way._


	14. Chapter 14

"You are out of your bloody mind." It was a statement he didn't feel needed any elaboration, so he said it plain.

 

 _"Perhaps you are out of yours."_ The voice he heard within his head as his liege lord sat silent facing him.

 

"Stop that," he growled. This was unbelievable. _It's all unbelievable._

 

The winter had passed after six turns of the sun. They knew that because Bran did. From beneath the ground, day blended into night for those of them without the sight. Bran could see everything, anything, from any time or place. He could speak to minds and command beasts from within. He had been the Watcher, with them from the beginning--observing, guiding. The new Lord of Winterfell was more terrifying than any who had come before him, crippled though he was. And the advantage was his. The only ones to believe in what he was were all dead in the conquest. Now, he floated on mystery and rumor.

 

The young man's voice cut through his thoughts returning him to his incredulous response to his liege lord's latest offer. _Or was it an order?_ he thought, angrily. "I have my reasons, Clegane."

 

 _This ought to be rich._ "Really? Such as?" He glared at the younger and handsomer man. Bran had grown into a fine youth, he had even grown strong in a way. He had trained his upper body to compensate for the crippled lower body and Clegane had helped him. _Ruined he was, but not so visibly as me._ He went on. "What possible interest could you have in marrying your sister to anyone as lowborn as me?" _As brutish, as violent, as ugly, as poor--bloody hells, the list goes on and on!_ He knew by his expression that the Lord of Winterfell had heard the words he would not say.

 

"You are the Clegane now..."Lord Bran used the Northern title implication. "The only one that remains. You're legendary at the tourney, one of the best known and most feared warriors in the realm. You are landed..."

 

"I am landed to nothing in a place I can never return to, in case you've forgotten--even now!" Danaerys Targaryan had issued a pardon for him for his service to the Starks, who had in turn served her. He was a free man. It wasn't the same as being cleared of a charge. Public opinion still held him as the butcher of the Saltpans. "I can't even sell it. There's no fortune, I can promise you that. There's nothing to interest you." _Or her_.

 

"Not quite," he answered distantly, as if he was traveling while speaking.

 

"What then? Out with it!" Bran of Winterfell was his liege lord and he'd follow him to the end because he chose to. _A loyal dog._ But he had spent five years underground with him and still treated him with a sense of authority. He was the older and more experienced, even if his lord was the wiser.

 

"I serve the interests of this family and I am your liege lord. You know I do not have to answer you."

 

"Of course not." _Bloody fucking nobles._ They were the same the whole world over and he knew his place. They had a familiarity that spoke of mutual respect. He wasn't being told to shut up, but he was being warned not to tred too heavily. "You can't imagine she'd agree to this." There was no way--no way that she would.

 

"She already has."

 

"What?! The bloody fuck she has!" He had never put on airs, never cleaned up his language or his manners. It didn't interest him. All that interested him was not being like the rest. He had learned from Sansa that not all mannered people were pretentious, but for the most part he still considered high-born people to be uncommonly possessed by hypocrisy. He knew what he was, and that only made this all the more baffling.

 

"She has, Clegane. You are the best choice."

 

That was too much. "The hells I am! I'm a killer! I don't know anything about being a Lord and less about being a husband--and I'm bloody not interested in either!" He had never had any ambition outside of being a great warrior and he had learned long ago that the comforts of women were not to be handed to him without gold in advance. _She's no whore. She's a lady...Lady Sansa of Winterfell. Seven hells_.

 

"You know more than you think." He started to respond and Bran stopped him, raising one hand. "One: Being a killer is a qualification. You can do something I cannot. You can be a visible General on the frontlines and you can train my brother to be the same." Bran paused until he conceded the point with a nod. "Two: You don't want to be a Lord--another qualification. You won't feel compelled by trechery to murder us all in the night to feed our birthrite to your ambition." _Fuck me, if that isn't the truth...last thing in the world I want is to be left in charge of this._ "As for my sister," he paused again,"you have protected her--you partially raised her. I watched you. She feels safe and comfortable with you." _Aye, and I'm old enough to be her father, boy, let's not forget._ "Many couples start with less." Bran eyed him seriously. _That's the bloody truth too--fuck me_. "Speak to my sister about her reasons, she knows them better than I. I know my reasons. She has heard them and has agreed."

 

He took his leave and began to walk the path to her quarters. He still stayed in an apartment he shared with Warrior that adjoined hers as a personal guard. It was a habit neither of them had been able to change and they still spent a great deal of time together. She still sparred with Osha and they still went hunting, falconing, fishing. _She's got some explaining to do. Why in the seven hells would she do it?_


	15. Chapter 15

He still used the old rhythmic tapping to announce himself. Better that she expect him, he thought. Her maid opened the door. She was sitting by a window soaking in the last of the spring rays. Once he saw her he felt his temper cool. He wasn't angry, just confused and unwilling. Sansa Stark had grown into the beauty everyone had anticipated. She was tall, strong, her hair a fiery auburn, her eyes a brilliant turquoise. She had celebrated her twentieth nameday not long ago, and as much as she had grown and changed, part of him still saw the girl hacking at the blood soaked linen of her mattress in the capital.

 

He strode into the room. Warrior sat at her feet and did not even raise his head in response. They still didn't stand on any ceremony and neither changed for the other. She glanced at him, then turned back to facing the sunlight. "I see you've heard."

 

"That's it? That's all you have to say about it?" Now he knew he wasn't angry. He just couldn't believe her calm. _Smooth as silk, like I just learned what they're serving for dinner and I'm not sure I like it_. He paused. "I've always told you the truth, plain. If it hurt, it hurt--it was true. Now you'll do the same for me. Why?" He moved to lean against the frame of the window so he could watch her respond. She wouldn't lie to him. He would know.

 

She squinted against the light to meet his eyes then closed hers again. "Do you remember what I said to you when we found Stannis had taken up siege at the Wall?" He did and she knew it. She went on,"My situation is the same as ever. I am a woman of a venerable bloodline with a claim to the North should my brothers die. A valuable prize. Would you see me put up at auction to the highest bidder?" It sounded almost like a challenge to which she already knew the response.

 

 _No, I wouldn't...and she knows it._ But there was no reason for it to be that way now. She could choose. Bran would give her that. "I don't understand it. I don't know why you'd agreed to this. It doesn't make sense." He paused and shook his head, turning her seat away from the sun enough that she could open her eyes and look at him and he leaned in, the shovels he called hands heavy on the armrests. "Look at me." He said it with force without raising his voice and she complied. _She's got to look at this for the rest of her life if she goes through with this--she can start now and see how she likes it._ "You could have young and handsome, old and rich--whatever you wanted--and I'd be there." He was part of this house now, he wasn't going anywhere. He stared into her eyes that remained steady and unflinching. "And if they harmed you, I'd kill them. If they got too ambitious, I'd kill them." His voice was rising, in spite of him. "If you got _bored,_ I'd kill them! And you'd be free." He paused, lowering his voice. "I'm not a good man. I'm not a fine man. I'm not a young man. I'm a big, ugly, brute. I'm a killer...a bloody good one. I'm not one of the knights in the songs--only thing I'm good for is killing anything that comes near you without your leave." He hadn't mentioned knights and songs in a long time, didn't think she still believed in them, but he had to think that she had taken leave of her senses. "I've managed not to harm you and now you want to put me in a position where I can't protect you. I'll hurt you. There's no way I won't--"

 

She rose to her feet so suddenly, he took a half step back. Then she pushed forward into his space. She was tall, she came up to his chin and now she was glaring at him. "Sandor Clegane!" He gaped at her as she stared him down. Her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped to a whisper so full of wrath, he nearly bowed. "Are you refusing me?"

 

His jaw dropped as his eyes snapped up. Was he? No man in the five kingdoms would refuse the match and he was still a man. No, he wouldn't refuse her. _But I have to know_.

 

"No, Lady Wolf, I'm not refusing you." He said it quietly, still in awe of what she had become. "But I've a right to know the truth. Why? You're a Stark of Winterfell and the most beautiful woman in the entire realm besides--you can have anyone and I will still defend you. I'm not a decent man. If you marry yourself to me, I'll have my rights." He darkened his voice and expression, posing it as a threat. He'd never known any woman to see it as anything else.

 

"I'd expect nothing less," she said over her shoulder as she resumed her seat. That response shook him to the core. _She's as mad as her brother._ "You want the truth?" He nodded. "Very well. Here it is, then. I cannot subject myself to any man other than you. It is one way that I am utterly intractable. You are what I know and expect, respect and admire. You are the person with whom I spend most time, share most of my thoughts and hold most experience in common. You have already proven who you are to me. There is no one who can rival you. That is why I cannot accustom myself to another's presence and I will not. You will be mine and I will be yours." He stared, slack-jawed. "Bran is right. It is best that I be taken off the market, so to speak, to be seen as 'neutralized'. You are the best choice for our family." She paused, training her gaze on him. "But you are the only choice for me." She finished in a tone that would brook no disagreement and none of it had smelled like a lie.

 

The light had mostly passed from the room, the sun retreating silently for the night. He turned away from her, sinking into a chair by the fire. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. She didn't make a sound with her approach, she had learned a certain silence of motion in the course of their journey. Coming to stand by his side, she unbuckled his armor the way she had for years now, a squire-like gesture that never had more significance to him beyond camaraderie or a certain respect for his actions on her behalf. Now it did. He scrubbed his face with his hands, aware of every bulge and pit of scar tissue being raked by the gravelly callouses on his palms. He could sense her standing between him and the fire, her body blocking the intensity of the flame. He almost pulled her closer to him. _Hells, she's too close to that bloody thing._ Instead he felt her hands pulling his from his face. They looked like two white doves fluttering around two massive labor pocked spades. The contrast was indisputable.

 

"Look at me." She echoed his earlier tone. He obeyed. Back-lit by the fire, her hair took light wherever it lay outside her silhouette. She knelt before him and his eyes followed her. He knew his face was fully and horribly lit by the flames. _Can't spare her now. She doesn't have long to change her mind._ "Do you know why I went with you?" No, he really didn't. He had threatened her, he had played out the very worst in himself that night. He shook his head. "In the beginning, it was because I calculated that I would last longer with you than with Joffrey. I thought I could escape later if I had to, but..." She paused. "I knew you didn't lie ever, certainly not to spare anyone. You said you would bring me home unharmed and you did. I know what you are. You won't hurt me."

 

"The hell I won't..."he muttered, half to himself. "You're right. I don't lie to spare people, so let's not beat about the bush." He took a moment to rub one hand over his face before gripping her jaw with it--forcing eye contact that she already seemed to be giving freely. "I only ever fucked whores. As long as my coin is good and they don't have to look at me, they don't complain--and I pay like any other man." _I don't know the first thing about making a woman like it--let alone a lady_. "So what am I supposed to do with you?" He had emphasized every word and now he was staring hard into her eyes.

 

Instead of flinching, she sighed. "I know that I am probably not what you would ordinarily look for in a woman...if there is someone else..."

 

"What the bloody fuck--have you not been listening? I don't _look_ for _anything_ in a woman! I find one to tolerate me for a spell and compensate her for her trouble." She went on, undeterred.

 

"You have done so much and brought us so far. Perhaps now, you could trust me to bring us the rest of the way." Her eyes had not left his, and the hand he had dropped to hold her face came to rest on his. "I will have my way in this, Sandor." She said it quietly, but seriously. He released every hold on her. He watched as she shifted her weight to one side, bringing herself to lean against him, her head resting on his knee. Warrior stood, his tail low, coming to join them. He sat at Sandor's free side. Unable to do otherwise, he sat back in the chair. _I've been bloody surrounded by wolves_ , he thought. _Nothing to do but surrender._ The feeling of unease in his gut hadn't left him, but he knew when he was beaten.


	16. Chapter 16

_A fucking circus, this...and I'm the trained bear._ He was not in his element. _No...my place is with my sword through someone that asked for it, not dressed up to play lord_. He was washed, combed, shaved and perfumed. He had new armor, richly designed and decorated with the three dogs of his family crest. A heavy cloak embroidered with black on yellow also bore the standard. In a few moments he'd throw it over his new bride's shoulders. _Bride...fucking hells._ His mind flashed back to a child trying to cover herself with her hands, beaten and weeping with shame on the throne room floor. _Fuck_...he closed his eyes. It was idiotic, but he supposed he had already done this a long time ago. _Didn't seem like anything at the time_. It really hadn't and yet it seemed to have been a determining moment. Joffrey had enjoyed his power over her and the rest had enjoyed the view. He knew his place, but that hadn't made him like it any more. _Should've let her kill him...but then they would have killed her...and for what?_ For being what she was. Even then, he wouldn't have allowed that.

 

Moments later he was repeating some words in front of the weirwood among the hot pools. He stood in a fog of thoughts, some connected, some disconnected. He hardly knew what he said standing there, hardly heard her when she spoke. He threw his cloak around her shoulders, watching it pool around her feet. She presented him with a favor. He recognized it as his handkerchief. She had embroidered a wolf on the opposite corner from his three dogs. He was supposed to kiss her, that was how the damned thing went. He hadn't looked at her once during the ceremony; now he did and her face showed a certain impatience. She stepped up to him and raised on tiptoes to kiss the edge of his mouth. _As if I'm not behaving like a bloody idiot already_...he was shocked stiff. People applauded--what they were applauding only Gods knew. The feast went on inside, boasting whatever was left of the winter mead stores along with every spring animal, game and crop. Everything tasted like dust. He ate and drank little, responding to her quiet proddings with equally quiet and doubly brief answers.

 

When the whoops began to go up for the bedding, his blood ran cold. She stood, abruptly and full of self-assurance. "There will be no bedding!" she called out to the crowd of on-lookers amid cries of dissent. "I'm afraid my husband will find me far too jealous a wife." There were approving claps on his shoulders then and exclamations of his great, in fact unbelievable, good fortune. "Though I believe the time has come for us to retire." He looked to the window. She was right. It had long been dark and it wouldn't do for people to think he was avoiding it. It would insult her. He knew his place and that his time was up. He tried not to look like he was being led to execution, though part of him felt that way. _Now she'll see. Now she'll understand what I was talking about. Can't keep her from the worst when the worst is what she chose._

 

He knew what went into ritual. He picked her up in the hall and carried her to their quarters, kicking the door open and closed. Then he set her down and crossed to the table to pour himself some wine. He wouldn't get drunk, but he needed to steady his nerves. _Who's the fucking maid here?_ he thought to himself derisively. She came to him and unbuckled his armor, a casual gesture that calmed him for an instant. Then she went behind a screen where her maid waited. He drank and refilled to the music of rustling fabric and the maid quietly exiting the room. Silence on her side, she seemed to have floated over to him.

 

"Sandor....?" _Fuck._ He turned to face her. She wore a silk gown and robe, both so fine that they looked like rising mists and seemed to fly with her every motion, clinging in the most suggestive of ways. He almost looked away. It was so ingrained in him that nothing like her was meant even to befriend him, let alone become his wife. The word turned his stomach. He closed his eyes, swallowing. "You're too much for me," he mumbled.

 

"Anyone else would not be enough for me," she returned. "Is this why you've looked like the Stranger was on your heels all day?" She was looking at him with that same impatience. He didn't answer, didn't know what to say. "Gods, is it that bad?" her impatience boiling over.

 

He sighed. "Not bad. It is bloody unbelievable. What am I supposed to do with you? What?" a tortured edge had crawled up from his throat, unbidden as he turned away from her.

 

 

"You could look at me, for a bloody start!" _Did she just swear?_ She had and she was fuming. _Of course._ It made sense. She was a beauty, everyone knew that--he was sure every well-bred man in the kingdom was muttering a curse or two about his luck. This was her wedding day, he was her groom and he had hardly noticed her--didn't even know what she wore for the ceremony, it could have been a feed sack for all he had cared. Now he looked at her up and down in a way that he was sure was completely indecent. It wasn't that he didn't know that she was attractive. He saw her every day. She was simply something so distant, so far forbidden from his experience that he had never contemplated it. _Doesn't make sense to lust after something you should never have._ But now he did have her. The thing that should never have come to pass had come to pass. Now he was alone with her and everyone would be expecting a bloody sheet.

 

He turned back to face her. "Aye, I could." And he did, again. _Hells. Too fine--she is too fine for me._ "You've got my attention, Lady Wolf...won't be long before you wish you hadn't."

 

She closed what was left of the distance, invading his space like she belonged there. Looking him square in the eye she began to slide off piece after piece of his armor, leaving him in tunic and breeches. She peeled off his tunic as she had once before, the morning after they had fled the Kracken ship. Her hands pushed him in a series of gentle shoves to sit on the edge of the bed, where she removed his boots. She pulled at him and he stood, like a puppet, letting her do what she wanted. There was nothing he could do--he didn't even know where to start. He was no saint, he had bedded women, but always as a coin transaction. He didn't know kisses, caresses--he didn't know anything. She pulled him far enough from the edge that she could circle him, slim white fingers tracing muscled curves and plains, scars that formed rivulets and pools on the topography. He was instantly and painfully aroused. She finished her circling facing him, hands running up his arms and down his chest and belly to his laces. He hadn't breathed since she began and at that, his hands caught hers and he sucked in air. He lowered his head helplessly to butt up against hers. "What am I supposed to do with you?" he repeated, more quietly than before.

 

"Trust me," was her whispered response. He released her and she stripped him, pushing him back to the bed. Once he was accessible to her, she followed him onto the bed. She leaned in and pressed satin lips to the leather of his skin, starting at his jaw and traveling his lips, from side to ruined side. She was taking his breath away and when he opened his mouth, she covered it with her open mouth. He didn't know anything about kissing, but she tasted sweet, and he sucked at her kisses. Her hands were running lightly over him, and his skin jumped under them. His hands seized her upper arms, yanking her to him as the kisses grew wilder and she gasped. He broke the kiss. "You see now? I'll hurt you, there's no way I won't...and now it's too late for you." Tears had begun to stream out of his eyes, though he was unaware of them, and now he could feel her dry hands moistening with them. He swallowed hard. She lifted the edges of the gown and moved to straddle him, now moving her kisses to his neck. When her mouth came to his collar, sucking to raise a bruise there, his hands gripped her again, molding her to him, callouses catching the fine material. She sucked until he was bucking against her. Then in one swift motion, he wrent the gown in two.

 

She was naked. Skin, white as cream--and finer he was sure than the silk that was covering it, quivered and puckered. _Fuck me._ That was exactly what she was doing, he thought as he stared, frozen. He wanted to put hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere, but still couldn't stomach the idea of him touching her. She reached for his tool to position him, and he lost it--in a split second softened. She sat back against him. It was then than he felt her wetness press against his abdomen. Before she could think or say anything, he threw her onto her back, chasing down her body with his mouth to find her flower. It did smell like honey to him and tasted like it too. He couldn't imagine how she had managed to be aroused by him, but it had presented him with something he hadn't known before. He had always spit lubed to push into a dry cunt, but she wanted him. Why, he was sure he would never know, but at least he knew she was willing. _More than bloody willing_ , he thought to himself. She had led him completely. He kept licking and sucking until her cries worried him and she pushed him back. He fell back immediately in response, watching in shock as she dove down on him, pulling his root between her lips. _Seven bloody fucking hells. What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?_

 

He pulled her off of him roughly, trying to put her back to him, but she wouldn't have it and straddled him. _You'll regret that, you don't want to look at me for this_. But she wouldn't be put off.

 

"How's it to be, then?" he growled. "Quick or slow? It's going to hurt either way." His tool was as big as the rest of him, a brutal cudgel for a maid to handle. He moved into position, coating himself in her moisture. He hissed quietly at the way that felt.

 

"Quick, like the gift of mercy," was her breathless command. _Aye, and I taught her that too, just in case._ Grabbing her shoulders he slammed her down, then froze at her cry. He tried to retreat, but she wouldn't allow it. "Look at me." He obeyed and he saw the most beautiful woman, lips red from kisses, cheeks pink with desire. His breath caught. "Now I am yours and you are mine." He nearly howled as she started to roll her hips. His hands petted and smoothed over her, feeling the skin he had sensed was perfect. It was stretched over healthy muscle and a soft, bouncy feminine layer that he palmed and squeezed. He sat up into the straddle, biting her neck as she had bitten his. He followed her through her first climax into one of his own that blew away every other sexual experience of his life, burying his face in her neck--he could spare her that much, he thought, fingers digging into her shoulders to pull her down against him in his own wildness.

 

When he woke in the morning, he started up in bed next to where she lay, sleeping on her side. He began with the morning sun to take account of his handling of her. There were fingerprints bruised into her hips and into her shoulders from when he had let go of his seed, fine scratches from his callouses everywhere, the welt he had raised on her neck bloomed purple and the streak of red on the sheet from her maiden's blood--appalling. Rolling over and opening her eyes, she followed his to where they were focused. "Look at me," she said. "It's no worse and no different than the rest." She quoted him. That had been a long time ago, but she was as right now as he had been then. There couldn't be anything but honesty between them. Holding out her hand, she pulled him down to her, curling against him in a spooning position, pressing her backside against him. Before he knew what was happening, she had wiggled him into her and he was driving in from behind. It was easier in some ways for him without her eyes on him. She could pretend it was whoever she wanted while he serviced her--something he was learning fast to do to greater and greater effect. He always did his best for her, this wouldn't be any different. _It doesn't matter who she fancies now._ She was his and he was hers.


	17. EPILOGUE

He sat ahorse watching the field. He had passed sixty name days. _Fuck me_ _, never thought I'd get so bloody old._ He still rode with the vanguard on a good day, but there were fewer of those now. He still found himself most comfortable with the sword and battle. He had lived that way his whole life and it was the way he intended to die. _The big work's over for me anyhow_.

 

Arya had never returned to public life. She had become an assassin during the Winter War and an assassin she had remained. She had been there for the wedding in another's face and had left shortly after. Her wolf Nymeria had returned, bred with Warrior and their offspring grew in size and number to a pack that prowled the Northlands as an unofficial guard. Bran still ruled with wisdom and a shadowy hand on all that served him. Rickon had become the warrior Sandor had trained and expected. He watched him charge wherever the battle was thickest. Rickon had been a difficult boy; headstrong and reckless. Now he was a man of purpose, skill and experience--diving in the way he did was calculated and confident.

 

He had lost Sansa three turns ago on the birthing bed. He had never learned to be comfortable in their marital relations. He remembered questioning her after their first night together.

 

_"Where did you learn to do that?" As a maiden, she had done the seducing and it was a role she owned and continued._

 

_"Osha," she replied with nonchalance, glancing at him over her shoulder. "And Arya."_

 

_That made him choke. "What? You took lessons?"_

 

_"Mmm. I told them I doubted you'd be willing and I had to make sure you were."_

 

 _Aye, and sure I was, whenever she wanted._ No matter how many times he took her though, he never trusted himself. She had ruled their private life with all the wisdom Bran showed in ruling his realm. The last pregnancy had been unintended. At her age, they hadn't thought it was possible. He had been happy with the strongest sons and prettiest daughters in the realm, not to mention the only person in the world who seemed to understand him for a wife. When he heard the screams of her laboring dying down he had burst through the door that was locked between them. Blood soaked everything he could see and when he looked into her eyes he knew that fight had gone out of her. It had scandalized everyone, but he had climbed in the bed behind her, leaning her back against his chest, twining his fingers with hers...trying to will the fight back into her. It had worked briefly. _Too briefly_. Finally, she had laid her head against his collarbone and looking at him she had simply apologized as the light went out of her eyes. He blinked back the heat that flared in his eyes at the thought. _Always the little lady_. Their tenth child, another son, had died with her. Of ten, five had survived--three boys and two girls. He didn't know what kind of a father he made. He cared for his pups and he was proud of them, but he had mostly done whatever Sansa told him. In the area of family and personal life, he remained stunted in some way. She had been right about so many things and he had depended on her as heavily during their life together as she had on him when she was still a child running for her life.

 

Danaerys Targaryan had died. _No one lives forever, not even a dragon._ A new game had begun with the power vacuum. Bran was determined that Winterfell would not get involved in it. As Lord of Winterfell, he had erred away from some of the family practice of judging and supporting honor. He was not interested in the politics of the Southron court. His only interest was his family, which had managed to regroup over the years. He had married and produced heirs, his brother and sister had done the same. The Starks would not be divided and marginalized as they had been by the last mad grasp for power. They would maintain the sovereignty of the North--nothing more and nothing less.

 

For his own part, this war was to be his last. His oldest son was of majority and already held the lands and titles that Bran had awarded him for service and in order to elevate him enough to be Sansa's husband. He didn't know if he had been any good at that either. In most ways he hadn't changed anything. He just stayed with her; year in, year out. _A loyal dog_. But now, at the close of his life he admitted to himself that there had been a world of difference between sharing blankets with a shivering child and waking each morning with a woman in his arms--and he missed it. He'd never known it with anyone else, and he would never know it again.

 

He returned his eyes to the field. _"All men must die. All men must serve."_ He figured he had done his share of both and he was feeling well. _I'm still worth three on a good day, one on a bad_. Today was a good day. He fell in with the vanguard of the flank, his black destrier chomping wrathfully at the bit. _There's a lot of Stranger in you, you fucking dunce_. They charged from the forest, scattering the forces come up from the Twins. He slashed and hacked, cleaving heads from shoulders, chests and collars. Fighting with everything, like he always had, he hardly felt the arrow go through, but it had gone through cleanly. As the battle ended and he wheeled his horse from the field he noticed the blood dripping from his boot. _All men must die._ Looking to the sky, he saw the raven circling. He hailed his liege with his sword arm, slipping from his horse to the snow dusted ground. _It's a good day...it was a good day_. The sky was bright and he closed his eyes.


End file.
